


mistletoe

by Blake



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, holiday drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:54:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22370602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blake/pseuds/Blake
Summary: A parasitic lifeform native to Earth; toxic to humans, it grows by draining the life source of its host plant.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	mistletoe

Jim has never actually hung up mistletoe before, and now he’s regretting not doing research before getting home. Fifty-odd Christmases and he’s never actually looked at how it was done. He vaguely remembers images of it hanging above a doorway, though he’s not sure if those images are punch-soaked memories of Starfleet holiday parties or if they’re the vintage greetings cards his mother used to collect.

But when he’d seen the mistletoe for sale at the plant nursery, inspiration struck and (as is always the case when inspiration strikes him) he absolutely had to have it. With each passing year, he’s falling victim to sentimentalism. Call it age, or call it coming dangerously close to losing your soulmate forever- the drive to recreate fantasy images of old-fashioned domestic bliss is catching up with his thirst for adventure and gaining speed.

“Hello, Jim,” says that preciously, achingly careful voice from the front door to their rural vacation Earth-house.

Jim’s excitement to see Spock is just barely surpassed by his disappointment at not getting the decorations finished in time to surprise him. He drops his hands from where he’d been trying to tape the mistletoe to the wall and rolls out the twinge in his shoulder as he turns to see Spock methodically setting his snowy outerwear on the coatrack. “Back so soon?” he asks, letting his annoyance shine through in his voice before his pleasure because it amuses him that Spock isn’t bothered by such things. He twirls the mistletoe between his fingers as he watches Spock take in the scene before him, narrow eyes set bright in his narrowed features.

“You are decorating, for the religious holiday?” Spock speculates, ignoring Jim’s question, as he has learned to do. 

Jim continues twirling the branch he bought specifically so Spock would kiss him under it. “I wouldn’t exactly call it religious, Spock.”

Even after decades of knowing the man, Jim can’t quite identify the line between surprise and skepticism when it comes to Spock’s raised eyebrows. “A cultural holiday with a religious origin is still a religious holiday,” Spock says, slipping his socked feet into his house slippers and stepping silently across the entryway. “What is in your hand?”

“Oh, this old thing? It’s just mistletoe.”

“Mistletoe,” Spock repeats, scanning his memory. Jim leans into Spock’s approach, lets Spock catch some of his weight until their bellies are touching and he can smell the subdued, spicy scent of the skin of Spock’s neck. “A parasitic lifeform native to Earth; toxic to humans, it grows by draining the life source of its host plant.”

“No,” Jim insists, pushing away from Spock’s chest enough to look up at him. He really should have done his research before leaving the nursery. “You must be thinking of a different mistletoe.”

“Indeed.” Spock doesn’t sound amused, but the warmth of his body settling against Jim’s says enough.

“This mistletoe is hung up in doorways for the holidays, and every time two people stand underneath it, they have to kiss.”

Spock looks at the mistletoe, and then into Jim’s eyes. They hold the whole universe of stars within them, and Jim never wants to look at anything else. “Humans never cease to amaze me with their absurd adherence to ancient ritual.”

Jim twirls the mistletoe into Spock’s face, heart melting at the sight of Spock’s face scrunching up against the intrusion. “Oh, really? You should try being a part of a Vulcan wedding, sometime.” He can’t help bringing up memories they once shared that Spock doesn’t directly remember anymore; it’s some combination of self-pity and amused superiority.

Spock’s eyebrows lift again, as though considering the possibility of a new wedding. “Are you too short to place the mistletoe above the doorway, as I saw you attempting when I came in?”

“Maybe,” Jim allows, pulling Spock down by the collar of his robe. He lets the mistletoe drop to the ground so he can hold on with both hands, clutch tight, and never let go. “Here’s to new traditions.” 


End file.
